


Virtual Living

by oldestcharm



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Quarantine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:49:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29735529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldestcharm/pseuds/oldestcharm
Summary: Q is bored, which is why he's actually excited to see Bond's name on his phone screen.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 19
Kudos: 141





	Virtual Living

**Author's Note:**

> Obligatory quarantine fic. The pacing's horrid, but I had so much fun writing it! <3

Q only notices his phone buzzing when his cat jumps at least a foot into air and speeds across the room with a loud meow. He props himself up on his elbow and stretches to get it, not willing to leave his comfortable position on the sofa. He's sort of familiarised himself with the pillows in the past few days and he's starting to like the idea of never moving again.

That said, he _is_ bored, which is why he's actually excited to see Bond's name on his phone screen.

**2:35 pm**

**Bond:** Are you busy?

Q thinks about it for a moment, raises his head to squint at one of his cats curled up on his legs, the endless amount of wires on his lap and the bottle of liquor on the coffee table.

"What do you think, buddy? _Am_ I busy?" he asks his companion who stares at him in return and offers a silent meow. Q laughs and settles back in. His back is killing him. "You're quite right," he says amicably and reaches out to stroke the fur. His fingertips don't reach very far, but his cat seems happy enough to meet him halfway and curl his paw into Q's jumper, claws scraping just enough to be painful. Q smiles at him and directs his attention back to his phone.

**2:38 pm**

**Q:** is anyone really?

Bond takes a moment to reply.

**3:40 pm**

**Bond:** No. That's the problem.

Q snorts, which jolts his body enough for his cat to dig his claws in further. He inhales sharply and types up another reply.

**3:41 pm**

**Q:** not prepared for the life of a hermit, i see. what are you doing?

The reply comes almost immediately and Q's somewhat impressed at Bond's ability to type so fast. Most people his age don't really have the skills for that and Q would know — he's had to fire quite a few people for simply not catching up with the times.

**3:41 pm**

**Bond:** Currently? Staring at the wall.

**3:42 pm**

**Q:** you should find a hobby. perhaps knitting?

He stares at his phone for a few moments, but there's no reply. Q figures that must have been too much for Bond's ego. He's just about to fling his phone back on the coffee table when he has a facetime request. Q's brows fly up in surprise. He hesitates for a moment, cranes his neck to look at his jumper, frayed, with multiple holes it; considers the three days worth of beard growth and comes to the conclusion that he simply cannot be bothered to look professional every day, especially not in his own goddamn flat.

He accepts the call and squints at the screen.

Bond's scrutinising gaze is somewhat alarming, but Q is not the type of man to run away from a staring competition. He's had a lot of practice with his cats — and it would be a shame to put all that effort to waste — so he merely raises an eyebrow in response.

"What?" he asks, almost smug when his tone comes out flatter than he'd originally intended to. He's always had a taste for dramatics. He wouldn't be where he is in life if it weren't for his ability to subvert expectations.

"You look a mess," Bond says after a pause and Q cannot help but notice the obvious amusement on his face.

"There's no need to be rude," Q says, eyes narrowing. "You're not exactly the embodiment of perfection yourself."

Bond smiles a smile so patronising, Q has to roll his eyes.

"You're not knitting," Bond points out and Q doesn't even bother to hold back his snort.

"Were you expecting me to?"

"With the jumpers and the cats and the tea? Yes. Yes, I was."

"Oh, is that the vibe I give off? A sweet old granny?" Q asks and he can't help the sharp grin forming on his face.

"More of a snobbish private school hipster," Bond says, lips curling into a smirk.

"' _Snobbish_ '?" Q repeats, brows drawn into a puzzled frown.

Bond laughs at him.

*

If Q had thought that this type of insanity was a one off, he couldn't have been more wrong. A few days later when he's finally sick of his sofa, he migrates to his office and perhaps loses the track of time. It's exactly 3 am when he gets another facetime request from Bond, this time without any warning.

Q figures that Bond already knows how he's been spending his time, so he accepts it almost distractedly, more focused on the blueprint he's working on.

"Yes?" he asks, sparing a quick glance at the screen before his pen freezes at Bond's expression. "Okay, what now?"

Bond gives his head a little shake and blinks at the screen. "That's a beard you've got there."

"Oh, that." Q's fingers fly up to scratch at it somewhat absently. "I've been busy."

Bond smiles and his eyes light up with obvious interest. "Busy with what exactly?"

Q embraces the rare opportunity to just talk at someone — being _invited_ to do so at that — and launches into a detailed description of the new experimental gun he's working on. Bond settles in on the other end of the screen with a drink in his hand, seemingly ready to listen to whatever Q has to say and Q _knows_ he's listening, because he nods along and occasionally even asks him to clarify certain points.

It's nice, Q thinks afterwards, when they've ended the call and it's almost light outside.

*

The third time it happens Q's not even surprised, although it is 7:30 in the morning and he's trying, sleep deprived and all, to boil some pasta. Rather than a dishevelled mess, he finds Bond on the other side of the screen, looking almost offensively immaculate. Immediately suspicious, he sets his phone down on the counter and folds his arms.

"What are you doing?" he demands, voice just on the edge of sharpness.

"I just finished breakfast," Bond says as though that's entirely reasonable.

Q scowls and leans closer to squint at the screen. "No. You look human."

Bond stares at him for a moment with an odd expression on his face, before his lips twitch into a smile. "Are you trying to tell me that I'm the embodiment of perfection?"

"More or less." Q shrugs and stalks off to feed his cats. "Have you got a mission? Why haven't I heard of it?"

"Not yet," Bond says ominously and when Q returns he looks very amused indeed.

"Whatever it is, I expect to know about it," Q tells him sternly as he looks around, brows drawn. There is a strange smell coming from somewhere.

"I'm sure you will. Now, what are you up to?" Bond asks and Q decides to ignore the quick change of subject.

"I'm making—" Q pauses, eyes widening at the sight of his pot of pasta. It's very clearly on fire. "Pasta."

"Pasta?" Bond prompts, but Q's too busy muttering curses and trying to turn off the stove.

"Give me a sec," he tells Bond and rushes out of the room to look for a working fire extinguisher, which he eventually locates in his workshop. Good.

By the time he's done extinguishing the fire, he's already forgotten about Bond's presence, which is why he jumps a little when Bond asks in a casual tone, "Did you just set your kitchen on fire?"

"Hm?" Q says, blinking at his phone, now covered in white powder. "Oh. Unfortunately, yes."

"Do you do that a lot?" Bond asks and Q picks up the phone to wipe away the powder with his shirt sleeve.

"Occasionally," Q admits and peers at his now ruined pot. "I think I forgot to add the bloody water," he adds mournfully.

"I see," Bond says in a tone that implies that he really doesn't see at all, but Q's too done with this shit to engage any further.

"I'm going to go and have a shower, clean up my kitchen and then I'm going to bed," he tells Bond with an air of finality.

Bond, to his credit, looks slightly bemused instead of judgemental. "Sweet dreams, Q," he says in a soft tone Q's never heard before. Rather than analysing any further, he just disconnects the call.

*

Q opens his front door, a cat in his arms and squints blearily at the sight in front of him. Bond's standing at the doorway, a large paper bag in his hands. There are vegetables visible on the top and Q's brain nearly malfunctions as he tries to conjure up an image of Bond grocery shopping. It's not really working.

"Can I come inside?" Bond asks, sound somewhat muffled through the mask.

Q shrugs. "At your own risk. Between the two of us, I won't be the one to die, old man."

Bond smirks. "I highly doubt you're as young as you look."

"Doubt away," Q says, covers a yawn with his hand. He sets his cat on the floor and heads for the kitchen.

"So is this you in your pyjamas before your first cup of Earl Grey?" Bond asks when Q glances back over his shoulder only to see Bond giving him a very obvious once-over.

"Ha! The joke's on you, I'm not even in pyjamas," Q mumbles nonsensically and puts the kettle on. It's true, though, seeing as he'd fallen asleep in the clothes he'd changed to yesterday after his shower and a thorough clean up of his kitchen — a ratty jumper and a pair of joggers. "Coffee?" he asks, hand hovering before the cupboard where he keeps his mugs.

"I didn't think you drank coffee."

"I'll drink anything," Q says with a shrug and paws at the coffee container somewhat unsuccessfully. "Keep myself hydrated, replace the soil... not getting much sunlight, though."

Bond leans closer, an odd look on his face. "Are you comparing yourself to a plant?"

"It makes sense," Q tells him as he sits on top of his counter and sluggishly opens the coffee container. "I'm deteriorating trying to work from home. Wrong conditions."

"You shaved your beard," Bond says and sets the paper bag on the counter next to Q and peels off his mask.

Q offers a weak smile as he closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the cupboards. "Stem cutting."

"Effective?" Bond asks and by the sounds of it, he's clearly nosing around Q's kitchen.

"Inconclusive evidence."

Bond's lips twitch into something resembling a smile. "I should have known you'd approach that scientifically."

Q opens one eye and peers over at him. "How should I approach it then?"

"Like a reasonable person," Bond tells him, tugging the opened coffee container from his hands. Q's eyes snap open.

"I don't think you know much about reasonable people," Q says, tugging the sleeves of his jumper over his knuckles and eyeing Bond work around his kitchen with deep suspicion.

"No?" Bond asks, quirking a brow. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

Q levels him a look.

Bond huffs a laugh and pushes a full cup of coffee into Q's hands. Q accepts it, welcoming the burn of the hot ceramic and inhaling the coffee steam almost greedily.

"You got me. Now tell me — does your fridge always look so miserable?"

Q blinks up at him, frowning. "It's not miserable. It has all the essentials."

"The essentials as in _ricin_ — and why do you even have that — or do you mean the one piece of mouldy cheese at the back?"

"It's supposed to be mouldy," Q says, taking an obnoxious sip of his coffee while maintaining eye contact. "It's blue cheese."

"Is it? I couldn't tell by its appearance."

Q lets out a somewhat theatrical sigh. "It's white and blue."

Bond pulls it out of the fridge, holds it up to Q and well— "It's yellow and black. Also, covered in slime."

"Gross," Q mutters and gulps at his coffee.

"So what exactly _do_ you eat?" Bond asks, throwing the cheese away. Q doesn't like how he seems to instinctively know where the bin is.

"Takeout, generally. Also, I'm stocked up on instant noodles." Q points his thumb in the general direction of the cupboards.

Bond squints at him. Sighs. "I'm making you dinner."

Q can't help but watch him, intrigued.

*

It occurs to Q, perhaps a little too late, that Bond has, for all intents and purposes, moved into his flat.

Since the first dinner, he's been subjected to regular meals and therefore, also, a regular sleeping schedule and he hasn't even _noticed_. Q's not entirely sure what to make of that.

He brings it up somewhat hesitantly one day as they're eating breakfast — Q perched on top of the counter and Bond leaning against the kitchen island. "Do you—" Q pauses, frowns at his kettle and the navy mug right next to it he certainly doesn't remember buying and picks at a loose thread on his jumper sleeve, "do you live here now?"

Bond sets down his plate and meets his eyes. There's something careful about that look that has Q on edge, but he has a hard time looking away.

"What?" he whispers, a little spooked when Bond pushes off the island and comes to stand right in front of Q. Bond tugs the coffee mug out of his hands and sets it right next to the navy one, before focusing his gaze back on Q.

"Yes," he says as if it's that simple and suddenly there's a hand on his thigh. Q blinks at him. "I told you I had a mission."

" _I'm_ your mission?" Q asks, brows furrowing.

"If you want it," Bond says, leaning into his personal space.

"Why?" Q asks.

"I like you," Bond says with a nearly imperceptible shrug.

Q's lips twitch into a somewhat embarrassed smile. "I think you're just bored."

"You're the one who told me to take up a hobby," Bond points out and Q doesn't have enough time to figure out whether he should be offended or not, before Bond's leaning closer, his breath warm at Q's ear. "I'll let you in on a secret," he whispers and presses a soft kiss to Q's jawline. "I'm not all that bad at gardening."


End file.
